


The Constant Gardener

by preciouspaladins (ItsASign)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Angst, Cursed Keith, Curses, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gardener Lance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Spells & Enchantments, Team Voltron Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsASign/pseuds/preciouspaladins
Summary: Lance is just the gardener.Keith is cursed.





	The Constant Gardener

Lance was unemployed.

It had come at a bad time, the day when he was let off. Lance knew it had been coming and therefore, was not at all surprised when he had been informed by his boss that he was collect his last paycheck and not come back the next day. He may have been talented, gifted even, but that meant nothing here.

Times were tough and people lost jobs, but Lance still let the tears fall when he got to his little apartment. Kicking of his shoes, he wearily trudged into his tiny bedroom and threw himself on the bed (he was entitled to little dramatics), springs squeaking loudly.

He needed money. He needed it badly and finding one now would almost impossible. The rent was due in the next week and he had barely enough to pay it, and buying the food was the last thing on his mind.

He groaned, burying his face into the soft pillow of his bed. Sighing, he burrowed himself further into the duvet and felt his eyes slowly sliding shut. Getting fired and crying for a lengthy period of time wore him out more than he had originally thought. His breathy pants evened out and his body unloosened as he dreamed.

—

_Lance was in a haze of blue and pink. He looked around and was startled when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. Whirling around, he was met with the face of a very pretty woman._

_Her brown hair floated about her like a cloud, skin pale with bright blue eyes peeking out behind curling black lashes. She was wearing a long white dress, that swirled with an invisible breeze. She seemed to float a few centimetres off the ground._

_"He... He has waited a long time." Her voice sounded regretful, head downcast._

_Lance was confused by her words. "Who has? And who are you?"_

_"I forgot that the world is so different now. Curses are a thing of the past." She looked up, eyes filled with tears. "You have a very special gift, but there is not much time, for his heart grows weary."_

_"Not much time for what? Who are you and what on earth is going on?"_

_"Do not doubt. Do not doubt yourself, Lance." With those words spoken, she disappeared._

—

Lance gasped as he woke up, sitting up so fast that he saw black spots in his vision. He could hear himself breathing rapidly and he could feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest, his shirt stuck uncomfortably to his skin with sweat. Shaking his head, he tried to remove the dream from his mind.

He tried to shake the dream from his mind as he applied face moisturiser, eyes thoughtful until he realised that he had applied it twice over

He tried to forget the woman's words as he ate his breakfast, corn flakes going soggy as his spoon was poised midair.

He tried, but no matter what, the dream seemed to follow him wherever he went and occupied his mind constantly. It popped up when he went to the employment office and was unsurprised that there were no jobs available. The woman looked apologetic and said she would call him if there was anything.

The wind bit into Lance's unprotected face, stinging his cheeks and leaving his skin a pale blue. It swirled coldly around his ankles, and slipped in between the gap between shoes and trousers. He shivered violently as another cold gust almost made him topple over. He cursed the weather for making him a pathetic fallacy.

Kicking angrily at the concrete sidewalk, he swore under his breath at his increasingly bad luck. Biting his lip violently — to the point where it bled — he rubbed his face hard with one hand. A mother with a child looked at him like he was drunk and walked past hastily, casting him a pitying look. He laughed — it was ironic — because he had never, not once, touched a drop of alcohol in his life.

Unbeknownst to him, his luck was about to change.

Lance stopped at the local park, his sore eyes in need of green grass and trees in this jungle of steam and money, as well as jobs. He sat on the bench and watched people go by, all oblivious to the misfortune of the lonely character watching them. Smiling a little at a little girl hopping on an invisible hop skotch pattern, he sat back.

Suddenly there was a particularly strong gust of wind and Lance made an effort not to be toppled over. He didn't even notice that a piece of paper had landed on his lap until the passing wind had abated. It had floated almost as if it had come from the sky above, but Lance did not know that. All he saw were the words 'Help Wanted' in large, red print.

He grasped it with shaky fingers, and blinked, almost sure that his eyes were deceiving him. Then he realised that it was very real, and that it was a job he would be capable of.

"Is this a cruel hallucination?" He looked incredulously at it and a smile covered his face. What were the odds of such a thing occurring?

It detailed that the job would entail being a groundskeeper, or a gardener in simpler terms, and said in no uncertain terms that the pay would be high. He didn't recognise the address apart from the area, which was a little out of the town and more in the countryside.

It was all too wonderful to be true!

In a hurry, he returned to his flat and looked up bus times that headed in that direction. Upon seeing that he only had a few minutes to make the last one of the day, he dashed out, forgetting about his coat and scarf, so impatient and eager was he to secure the job.

All the while, he clutched the paper tightly, as if the job itself had the capability to disappear into thin air if he lost his grip on it. He must have looked a sight, hair windswept and wearing little more than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a large, radiant smile on his face. He cared little for what others thought of him at this moment.

And like that, the strange dream and the woman's words were forgotten.

— 

The journey was not far, though time seemed to slow itself down as Lance felt himself gradually growing impatient. The city passed and soon his eyes met with lush colours of budding greens and pinks, for Spring was on its way. He sighed — for all this was something he had given up — eyes roving hungrily over the colour that seemed to spill from every nook and cranny.

Being a botanist in the city had meant something to him, but nothing could ultimately compare to the countryside. Carefully he had tended to plush camellias, and regal roses, yet he missed the wild flowers. He had missed planting seeds and just letting them grow. The stilted, laboratory conditions of the gardens in the city had no comparison to the wild splendour of the country.

His nose pressed to the glass, he looked out in awe, almost like a child looking at toys through a shop window. Eyes lit up and lips curved. He should have come out here sooner. He clutched the piece of paper — he was here now.

The bus driver stopped and turned around to inform Lance that he had arrived at his destination. All he could see was an overgrown path leading upward.

"Thar's strange folks livin' up thar. Amn't goin' nowhar near 'em. Yah couldn't pay me." The driver spoke loudly and Lance thanked him, though his brows furrowed at the piece of news. "They ain't ne'er ben seen. Good luck to yah."

Feeling somewhat perturbed by the driver's words, he disembarked and looked around him, the bus chugging painfully away into the distance. Usually birds would be heard, but everything was still. The wind didn't even blow and the trees were silent.

Shaking off the slight feeling of uneasiness, Lance began to make his way up the path, careful not to trip over overgrown weeds and roots of trees that had burst up from the earth. The way looked like it may have been nicer a while ago — a while ago being a century. Age and nature had taken it over.

Everything was so still. Not a bough creaked. Not a bird whistled. Lance shuddered and kept going, despite the eerie silence of his surroundings.

Trees were surrounding him on all sides, and he felt dizzy just by looking at their sheer size, trunks gnarled and warped with age. He was staring at them for so long that he almost tripped over the fallen gate.

It might have been one of those majestic ones he had often seen in old films, but now it looked nothing like it. Multiple plants crawled over it, bold and daring thistles standing proud in between the bars, nettles in a lush cluster. A small rose plant, half-choked by its competitors, struggled to stand.

Clucking softly under his breath, Lance bent down and caressed the small plant. As he touched its leaves, it seemed to pick itself up, and Lance let out breath as he felt the familiar, faint breath of a plant revived. It rubbed against his palm and he smiled softly.

A wall, now crumbling met his eyes, but nothing like the large — what could only be described as a castle — building, which stood majestic and tall before him. Two turrets were on either side, and he could see a light flicker from one of them for a brief moment.

As he walked forward past the walls, he was hit with a garden, or what might have been one if not for the copious amounts of leaves from years of autumns and the large amount of overgrown plants and shrubs. Weeds and unwanted growth trailed over a fountain in the centre, algae green as he looked into it.

It seemed his work was cut out for him, but for anything to be allowed to grow this awful was beyond him. It might have been a very beautiful at one time — something he could only see bare traces of now.

The way was so overgrown that at one point he had to crawl through a small gap on the ground to reach the front door. One could barely see it, with the tendrils of ivy hanging down and the fact that it was made of wood. Taking one deep breath, he knocked on the door, a part of him doubting anyone would answer.

—

"Keith, it is really quite ridiculous for you to just sit here and waste your life away."

The words were directed towards a young man with tousled dark locks, who was sitting in a large armchair. The speaker himself, a man of broad shoulders and militaristic stature, looked pained, although his words were cross.

"What do you suggest I do, Shiro?" The boy replied with fire in his words. "I can't do anything other than that."

"You could help Hunk in the kitchen. Allura needs help dusting. You could do so much, Keith. You have so many choices before you."

"Choices? Don't speak to me of choice, Shiro. I don't have a choice in any of this." The younger man's voice grew bitter. "Leave."

"You do. You're just too afraid to change and make choices." With that, Shiro left the room.

Keith uttered a yell and threw a nearby glass after him, hitting the door and smashing into a million pieces.

—

A man sporting a ginger moustache and hair of the same colour answered the door.

He looked startled upon seeing Lance there, so much so that his spectacles fell clean off his face. Muttering under his breath he searched blindly for them on the floor, disregarding the person before him. Lance picked them up and handed them to him kindly.

"Your glasses."

"Thank you, my boy." The man stood up ramrod straight and now with full attention, spoke. "What may I help you with? If you are astray, the road towards the city is but a few miles." He waved his hand grandly in the general direction behind him and sniffed.

Now somewhat hesitant, Lance handed him the piece of paper he had not let go of. "I found this and would like to apply for the job." 

The butler (for that is what Lance assumed, considering his attire) promptly dropped the paper and looked at him, for the second time, shaken. "Where did you obtain this?" He picked it up and looked at him curiously through the lenses. "Shiro and I were just speaking of the possibility of one yesterday."

"In the park. If I may speak to... Shiro, was it not? I am in need of this job, sir." Lance spoke hopefully and a look crossed over the man's face.

"But of course! And it's Coran, my boy. Just Coran. Please do come inside, excuse my manners."

Lance stepped into the hallway and Coran shut the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a long Voltron fic. Leave comments or kudos, I don't bite! Request, chat or even rant to me on my tumblr @itisasign


End file.
